


Alone on this Ledge

by wearemany



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Dallas Stars, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-19 22:35:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2405378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearemany/pseuds/wearemany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyler makes <a href="https://33.media.tumblr.com/10545946d7eb2c71d5a9a4bb5e5f2a99/tumblr_ncxu6bBNZB1svlrn9o1_1280.png">snow angels</a> at center ice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone on this Ledge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sinsense](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinsense/gifts).



> _I'm alone on this ledge_  
>  _Just me and my crush on you_  
>  \- Cory Branan

Jamie finds Tyler at center ice. Flat on his back, arms and legs spread wide, skates splayed. His eyes are pointed up to the rafters, and they cut over quickly when Jamie stops with a small snow shower across Tyler, thin slivers flying up to melt on his neck. 

"Harsh," Tyler says, without any heat. 

It's quiet in the arena. Not silent—there's still the buzz of the lights, the distant clatter of a crew cleaning up or moving something, doing their jobs because they know better than to wait for players to decide they're done doing theirs. 

Jamie squats down and Tyler pats the ice next to him like it's a square of green grass at a sunny park. "Try it," he says, so Jamie tilts over onto one side, then rolls to his back. 

His helmet’s back in his stall and the ice is coldest against his sweaty hair. He takes off one glove and tucks it under his head like a pillow. 

Tyler says, “Ahh,” and does the same, thumbing off his chin-strap and setting his helmet on his far side. 

They’re lying at an angle to each other, arms by their sides, but once Tyler’s in motion he’s usually pretty restless until he’s wiggled around a bit. He keeps scooting around, a few centimeters at a time, and eventually plops one of his legs over Jamie’s ankle so he can sprawl out.

“Better,” Tyler says, and they stare up at the roof without speaking for a while. It’s still a little weird to be getting used to a full barn instead of permanently half-empty seats.

“I’ve never been this excited to start a season,” Tyler says eventually, voice hushed, like somehow that most obvious statement could be a secret to anyone. 

Jamie’s chilled face splits in a grin. 

“I mean I was always glad to come back, you know? But last summer it was hard to know what might happen, and the year before it was, ugh, the lockout, and it was already weird in Boston for me, and before that — I don’t know, I just did my summer thing until it was done. This year — this was all I could think about, being back here.”

Jamie says, “Yeah,” because it doesn’t matter really whether Tyler means skating or this, them.

Tyler says, fast, “And back with you.” 

He curls his chest in towards Jamie’s, pinning Jamie down more with the weight of his leg. It’s like Tyler’s doing yoga, kind of, except how he’s doing it half on top of Jamie. 

It’s a little weird to get used to this again, get used to Tyler and the way he throws his body around, the way he winks and smiles and runs his mouth off and stares like Jamie’s the only thing he can see. Until he wanders off again.

They’ve seen each other plenty, at promos and practices. But now it’s for real. Pre-season, regular season. Post-season, if they play it right. He knows what Tyler means, though. He’s never been this hungry for it to start. 

The easy part of summer, once he got over the gut punch of losing, was keeping his head down, focusing on his training and thinking through what his team would need from him when they were all back. What Tyler would want, but more than that, what Tyler would stay interested in. 

They’ve spent most of every day since they both got back to Dallas together, and Jamie’s never been less sure what’s going to happen next. 

Tyler shifts closer. Now one of his legs is fully draped in the V between Jamie’s, and still he’s twisting his torso so he’s pressed to Jamie’s arm. His breath is hot on Jamie’s face. 

“Tyler,” he says, softer than he means to, like it’s not totally obvious how he feels. 

Tyler smiles, wide and cheesy, and leans in slow. Jamie automatically jabs out an elbow into his chest. “There’s people here,” he says.

The most obvious admission yet. 

Tyler flops back onto the ice, waving a hand around. “Keep it behind closed doors,” he says, weary. “I know. Believe me, I know. Been getting told that since — forever.” 

Tyler being told he can’t do something, can’t go after it like he wants to — attacking it with everything he’s got — is harder to watch than Jamie is paralyzed by imagining how it could all go wrong.

Jamie pushes himself into a seated position. Icy trails of cold water drip down the back of his jersey, shocking him back into his body. He gets one knee under him, stands, shakes himself out. 

Tyler leans up on his elbows. Even six feet below Jamie on his back he manages to make it look aggressive, argumentative. “What?” Tyler challenges. Like Jamie’s running away. Like Jamie’s scared.

Jamie reaches out a hand to haul Tyler up on his skates. “Let’s go find someplace with a door.” 

 


End file.
